


Shatter

by PhoenixSolo



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Blood licking, Choking, F/M, Knife Play, Prior non com, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Rough Sex, and i was like, and there was one bed, choo choo bitches, dont bitch if you didn’t read the tags, ga ga ooh la la, i saw there were only like three fics with Zemo/reader, i wrote this in like a week, im sorry, oh my god there was one bed, rah rah ah ah ah, roma romama, tags will change, there will be gratuitous smut at some point, this a bad romance, time stretch!, why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixSolo/pseuds/PhoenixSolo
Summary: Sequel to Break. Reader is to gather up surviving higher echelon of Hydra after it is exposed to the world in the events following Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Reader is on the hunt and gets more than she bargains for when she meets up with one Helmut Zemo.





	1. Chapter 1

You stood overlooking some river in some capital city in a country you didn’t care about. You knew this city was Paris and the river was the Seine, but you simply didn’t care. 

You had a mission. 

A simple retrieval and extraction. Find the Hydra officer and retrieve him. 

Hydra as a whole was no more. Your task was to find the sleepers and runaways, collect up anyone who wasn’t dead and to deal with anyone who refused. 

They sent you because this officer had a tendency to...be less than amiable towards operatives. You unconsciously gripped the syringe disguised as lipstick and walked down to the lobby. 

This man was hellbent on routine, something you understood but still scoffed at. Routines made one predictable and predictability in this line of work made you dead. 

You marked your target: a potbellied middle aged man with a raggedy toupee in traveling clothes and carrying a business satchel. You sized him up and decided to go for the nonviolent approach first. 

You rifled through your brain, seeking out the languages you knew this operative spoke—Russian, your native French, and English—and selected one. You approached the officer with your arms outstretched, calling out: _« Papá! Je t’ai attendu! »_

The operative blanched. Most knew exactly who you were: the Winter Soldier’s mate, a formidable assassin in your own rite, formerly воробей, “vorobey”. The Sparrow. 

That name was dead now. The Soldier had selected another name, a better one. One more suited to your skills of speed and deadly accuracy. 

You were now сапсан, Sapsan.

Peregrine. 

You embraced the officer, whispering into his ear: _« crier et tu es un homme morte » Call out and you’re a dead man._

The officer returned your embrace shakily, asking: _« comment etaít ton voyage à la russe? » How was your trip to Russia?_ Meaning: are you coming from Russia. 

_« C’était bien! Tu devrais venir avec moi la prochaine fois» it was good! You should come with me next time._ You need to come with me. 

The officer waved his hand flippantly. _« je n'ai pas le désir d'y retourner jamais. Il fait trop froid! » I have no desire to return there. It’s too cold!_ I’m never going back. 

You wrapped your arm around his shoulder in a daughterly hug and guided him through the lobby to his room. _« Ne sois pas bête! Nous visiterions la Caspienne! » Don’t be silly! We’d visit the Caspian Sea!_ We’re going to the Caspian location.

_« L'air n'est pas d'accord avec moi— » the air doesn’t agree with me—_

You’d has enough of this whining. You’d reached the room at this point and he’d opened the door. 

So he knew for certain he’d leave: it was just a question of in a body bag or on his own two legs. 

The officer led you into the room, still clutching the satchel. Perhaps he had the hope he could subdue you. The door closed and his fatherly act disappeared. “I’m never going back. Hydra is DEAD!” 

“You don’t get to make that call.” You folded your arms over your chest, watching his every movement. 

“I’m through, I’m done,” the officer babbled. “I can’t got back anyways; they’ll kill me—“ 

“That’s what I’m here for.” You pulled the syringe out of your pocket. It wasn’t anything special, just fentanyl since this officer was known for his… extracurricular drug habit, but it would still stop his heart and make it look like he went into cardiac arrest. 

The officer, already pale, went positively ghostlike, then sighed. “I suspected as much. If they’ve sent the Peregrine after me, I must be dangerous enough.” He pulled the collared his shirt to the side. “Get on with it, then.” 

You approached him, lazily tapping the syringe. “You’re not fighting back. Have you given up?”

The officer shrugged. “I’m old. I’ve lived a full life. I’ll be useless to whatever is replacing Hydra.”

That tweaked on your nerve. You lunged for the old man and plunged the syringe into his neck. The man choked and grabbed your wrist with one hand but did not struggle further. 

With his other hand, he pressed his bag into your belly. “...use...this…for...soldier…”

Before you could blink, the man was dead. 

You opened the satchel. 

In it, among various papers, was an address for one Vasily Karpov.


	2. Chapter 2

You walked along the avenue post killing, holding the satchel like you would a purse. You ducked into an alley to re-examine the contents of the bag.

The scrap of paper with Vasily Karpov’s name written in the Roman alphabet and an address in the United States. Fuck. 

Karpov was on your list to execute on sight. Your former handler had split when the helicarriers had fallen from the sky, disappearing without a trace. The Soldier had been on a lone, special mission then had just… vanished without a trace. Your orders were to retrieve him and to eliminate Karpov. 

You had no reason to dislike the man but orders were orders and missions were missions so he had to be dealt with. 

You left the alley, disposing of the satchel in a dumpster and tucking the paper into your back pocket, and ambled along the rue. Your espionage senses picked up a tail and you paused at a bakery window, pretending to consider a treat. 

There, across the street. Average height, average but strong build, not someone anyone else would look twice at. He was staring at you with great interest. 

You sized him up, then wandered around window shopping for a few minutes, hoping to lose him. 

He trailed after you like a hawk after its prey, something that rankled you. 

You’re supposed to be the hunter, not the hunted. 

You ducked into a womens lingerie shop, sliding your lipstick syringe into your sleeve. It had no more fentanyl in it and was completely empty but he didn’t know that. 

He followed you. 

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. You walked out the door—

—and felt a hand slide across your waist. “Darling, I thought I’d find you in here!” 

You turned to face him. 

He had a Slavic accent—Serbia? Ukraine? Sokovia?—a youthful face, brown hair, icy blue eyes that betrayed a solemn demeanor and hard muscles along his arms. Arms he was currently using to hold you close. 

“You have something of mine, darling,” he whispered in your ear, sliding a hand into your back pocket. This man was good. Special forces good. 

“Y-you’re mistaken—“ you whisper back, trying to avoid a scene. Scenes get assassins remembered and that’s not something you wanted. 

“Now, now, ‘dear’, don’t raise a fuss—“ 

You wrapped your arms around his neck in a seemingly friendly embrace, sliding your lipstick syringe into your hand and pressing it against the man’s neck. The action forced the man’s face next to you. “Take your hands off me. Now. Or—“ 

“You’re going to stab me with an empty syringe?” The man’s face spread into a smile that would have looked adorable on him had it reached his eyes. “Walk with me now, or this ends up in your side—“ The man jabbed something pointed against your left kidney. 

You didn’t really have a choice: he had you dead to rights. 

So you went along with it. “So where are we going for lunch, sweetheart?” 

“I figured we’d go back to the hotel and work from there.” So he may or may not be planning to kill you. You still didn’t trust him but you’d faced down larger and more skilled opponents. You could deal with him if you had to. 

You allowed the man to walk you to the hotel he was apparently staying at. He removed his hand from your pocket, along with the paper and grabbed your hand. “Thank you for the ‘lovely’ time, uh…” 

You narrowed your eyes at him and he gently shoved you away from the door. 

Just before it closed and locked, the man held up a capped pen and grinned. 

“You son of a BITCH!!” 

Oh, there was going to be hell to pay. 

——— 

You watched the room for a week, renting your own room near his. This man could be trouble for your mission.

On the eighth day, he left with a bag and you followed him. He ambled to the train station with you following at a distance. 

You followed him to the airport, where he stood at the check in, smoking a cigarette. Your target wouldn’t be in his back pocket; nobody’s that stupid. 

“Schatz, I thought you couldn’t meet me!” 

“I think you may have my wallet, dear.” You approached him amiably and gave him a hug under his coat. You pulled back, disappointed at not finding the paper. 

“It’s not there, sweetheart,” the man snickered. He held out his hand; you eyed it as if it was a venomous snake but put your hand in his. He kissed the back of your hand and gave it a squeeze then pulled you into a hug. He ran his hand into your pocket and you felt something in the pocket as he pulled away. “Stay out of my way and you won’t get hurt.” 

“I’m not the one who should worry about being hurt,” you whispered back. 

The man snickered. “I’ll be back in Europe in a week, liebling; perhaps we can meet in Vienna.” He planted a kiss on your cheek, grinned mischievously and walked away. 

Security, common sense and the general public seeing you prevented you from knifing him on the spot. 

You reached into your pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. 

It was the address for Karpov.


	3. Chapter 3

Vienna, you mused. You purchased a ticket for the next train. 

The next week and a half were utterly, absolutely and irrevocably boring. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Not even a streaker on the streets. 

You thought you’d positively die of boredom. 

Until your eye happened to catch a news blurb on social media about an unsolved murder. 

And that’s how you found out Karpov was dead. Your phone beeped. In Cyrillic letters, you read: _“You have failed.”_

And your heart dropped. You smashed the phone to disable the tracking device in it, then disposed of it and immediately vacated the hotel you had been staying at, carrying only your bag and disposing of anything that could identify you. You walked down the street, wondering where to go and how to get there quickly with no information and no identity documents. 

With that message, you knew your life was in danger. The remaining higher ups no longer trusted you because of your failure to assassinate Karpov. 

Which meant you were a liability. 

Which meant that with the information you had, you’d be on the hit list now. 

You were so lost in your thoughts that you bumped into someone and fell back. 

“Schatz! I thought I’d find you in Vienna!” It was the man from Paris. He held out a hand and helped you up. 

“Who are you?” You demanded. “Why have you been destroying my work?” 

“Helmut Zemo, my dear, and exactly what work are you referring to?” Zemo slid his left arm around your shoulders—but not before you noticed the wedding band around his finger. “And you are?” 

“I...I don’t have an actual name; I’ve forgotten it,” you said hesitantly. “Just a codename.” 

Zemo tensed up. “That explains a lot, really. Who are you with?”

“No one anymore, thanks to you.” 

“Ah, a freelancer.” Zemo ignored the jab. “Let’s have a talk.” 

An hour later, you were in his room at a bed and breakfast outside the city.

“So who exactly are you.” A statement from you rather than a question. 

“You have my name—“

“You skillset. Your background. You’re not just a man who looks like an accountant.”

That comment made Zemo stiffen and you were sure he got a lot of teasing from whatever he did about his youthful appearance. 

“Sokovian Special Forces. EKO Scorpion.” _That...explains plenty, actually._

“Skills?” 

“Assassination.” 

You were silent. Suddenly, this baby faced man was more than he seemed. 

“I may have a plan,” Zemo said before you could open your mouth. The former soldier laid out some paperwork on his bed. “It’s heavily involved.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

“It requires the Winter Soldier’s involvement, willing or otherwise.” Zemo lit a cigarette and offered you one. You accepted and opened the window to allow smoke to escape as Zemo lit yours off of his. 

“Tell me.” 

Zemo took a drag off of his cigarette. “I intend to bring down the Avengers.”

“Lofty goal.” 

“These accords they are planning—“ Zemo tapped on the paper. “They could have divided the Avengers. Your Soldier—“ he tapped on the picture. “—assassinated Stark’s parents in 1991. Captain America, I believe, knows the Soldier; they were army buddies in World War Two.” 

“And where are you going with this?” You exhaled smoke. You suspected you knew but you wanted it spoken. 

“Captain America thinks this man is dead. In reality, Hydra found him and salvaged him.” 

You nodded impatiently. “Trust me, I’m very well aware of the history.” 

Zemo narrowed his eyes. “How is that? Hydra is pretty secretive.” 

“I WAS Hydra.” 

Zemo’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “What’s your skill set?” 

“Infiltration, assassination, espionage…” You trailed off. “Do you speak Russian?” 

“I can order vodka and ask for directions,” Zemo replied, confused. “Why would I need to know Russian?” 

“Because the activation words for the Soldier are in Russian,” you said shortly. “That address you stole off me? That’s our handler.”

“Karpov?!” Zemo blinked. “Wait—‘our’?! Just what exactly did you do for Hydra?!” 

_How do I tell people I was little more than a sex doll?_ “You really do not want the answer to that question.” 

“Wait, wait, okay, wait.” Zemo threw down the pen he’d been holding and waved his hands in the air, frustrated. “This is confusing as hell. Start from the beginning.” 

You put your face in your hand. “Okay so the Soldier—or the Asset as the higher ups preferred to call him—was originally created by the German branch of Hydra, as you know. During the Cold War, Hydra transferred over to the USSR, now known as Russia.” You paused to light another cigarette and Zemo waited patiently, lighting another of his own. “The Soldier has been a Hydra asset since World War 2.” 

“When did you come onto the scene?” 

“Mid 70s, I think. I came from a village in France.” 

“So what are you now?” Zemo narrowed his eyes. 

“Well, again, no thanks to you, I am a free agent,” you said sharply. “Karpov was MY target and you eliminating him first means my ass is on the line—“ 

“It’s a lovely ass, though—ow!” Zemo rubbed his arm ruefully where you punched it. “What were you to the Soldier?” 

You froze. “I’d rather not discuss it.” 

“So...Russian, huh…” Zemo mused. 

“Yes. The code words are in Russian,” you sighed as you repeated yourself. “...but I don’t know them. Karpov has—had—them written down in a journal that’s been passed on since the Soldier’s creation.” 

“Is that was this is?” Zemo reached into his bag and pulled out a red journal. 

“Where did you get that?!” 

“Karpov has no need of it now where he’s at, so I took it—hey!“ Zemo held the book out of your reach and planted a booted foot on your chest to keep you away from him. “Mein Gott—“ 

It occurred to you as you struggled that you had a distinct advantage over Zemo… “Fine, keep the damn thing. Go choke on a dick.” You straightened your hair and coat and turned to leave. “Just remember when you’re choking that the journal is in _Russian._ Which you don’t speak.” 

With a hearty German swear, Zemo threw the book onto the table. 

_3...2...1._ You counted the steps in your head as you walked towards the door. Your hand was on the knob before Zemo said: “Wait—“ 

“Hm?” 

“Teach me these words—“ 

“No,” you said dismissively.

“We can make a deal of sorts—“ Zemo was beside you, hand gently closing the door, before you realized it.

“What do I get out of it?”

“Well, from what I’ve gathered, the Soldier is important to you and your security.” You have no idea. “So I propose this: you teach me the words and pronunciations I need to know and I help you get him back to wherever.” 

You pretended to consider the deal. Don’t want to appear too desperate. “Deal. You have two weeks, then I’m gone, no matter what progress you’ve made.”

You held out your hand and he clasped it with a surprisingly warm grip. 

“You want to be partners, _ja?_ Then I need full disclosure.” Zemo stood, his baby face melting away and a dangerous look replacing it. “I’ll ask again: what were you to the Soldier?” 

_He trapped me!_ “I...was a partner of sorts,” you answered shakily. 

“Partner or _partner_?” 

You set your jaw, folded your arms and glared into Zemo’s face. “Partner. In every sense.” 

Zemo nodded. “Will he present a problem?” 

“He is a jealous man,” you said hesitantly. “Back to this plan you are fabricating.” 

He didn’t press further. “I need to flush him out and to do that, I need the code words. Flushing him out will force Captain to choose between his current friends and his childhood friend and all but guarantee a match between the Ironman and Captain America.” 

“Which will bring down the Avengers,” you responded. “Sounds good on paper…” 

A knock on the door interrupted your discussion. Zemo got up to answer it out of your line of sight. You sat at the table going over the paperwork. 

Zemo returned about fifteen minutes later, somewhat unsettled. 

“What is it?” You asked, not looking up from the papers. 

“The _hausfrau_ seems to think we are a married couple and she lectured me about you not having a ring.” Zemo bit back a chuckle. 

“So what did you tell her?” 

“I told her we are indeed married, you just left your ring at our home in Strasbourg.” Zemo backed up, hands in the air, as you stood and stalked towards him. “Whoa, hold on there—she’s very religious and if she suspects we aren’t actually a couple, she will throw us out.” 

You dropped the fist you’d raised. “A cover, then.” 

“Yes.” Zemo side stepped you to the bed and sat on it. “I also told her we’re in a rough patch and we’re trying to repair it.” 

“Way to think on your feet. What are our names and what’s our story?” 

“Helmut and Ilsa Müller. You’re angry at me for something but we’re trying to work things out.” 

You completely ignored Zemo, an idea randomly inserting itself in your brain. “I think I know how you can flush out the Soldier.”


	4. Chapter 4

_You awoke to monitors beeping and a chilly hand on your cheek._

_Then sleep._

_You awoke again; that same hand and a warm one running up your injured side. Breathless apologies in Russian reached your ears._

_More sleep._

_———_

_“The serum is diluted; she’ll still heal faster than an average person but not as quickly as those who received full doses.”_

_The words registered hazily in your head as your body was tended to. More words were exchanged but you didn’t care._

_You slept more._

_———_

_Finally your eyes opened and stayed open._

_Everything hurt. You hissed in pain as you shifted around._

_“Easy, child. You’re not fully healed yet.” His gentle voice took you by surprise—considering he was the one that put you in this position._

_“Where…” Your voice was hoarse from disuse._

_“Right now, Germany. Our Nuremberg safehouse, to be specific.” He was seated besides you, holding out books of German phrases and history. “You cannot be physically active right now and you still need your rest but if you’re awake, I expect you to be reading and learning.”_

_Back to the routine, like you hadn’t tried to kill him and he tried to return the favor._

_“How long…?”_

_“Four weeks.” The Soldier shrugged nonchalantly. “You would have died if not for the serum.” He stood up and—in a very unsoldierlike gesture—wrapped his arms around you and hummed into your hair._

_It was the last bit of free affection he’d show you._

_The next week, he began to speak to you in German. He would smack the back of your head if you got a pronunciation or phrase or anything wrong and soon, you’d flinch every time he raised a hand to you._

_Two weeks later, you woke to him sitting on your thighs, his cock exposed and him pumping on it with a fist in your hair. You raised an eyebrow at him; he had the grace to at least look embarrassed. “I miss you.”_

_You turned your head away from him as he climaxed on your face and chest._

_As you healed, you were given more physical tasks. The Soldier would punish you as he saw fit, reward you if necessary and kept your mind and body going._

_You were not permitted to leave the compound due to your injuries and it grated on you._

_“You still need recovery. You are not ready.” The Soldier had responded when you timidly requested to be let out._

_So you healed._

_And you trained._

_About five months after you woke, the Soldier began to train you physically. He started easy: stretching, strength building, calisthenics…_

_Hand to hand, weapons training, escape and evasion._

_For your mind, he made you study: Russian, Arabic, Romanian, German, Spanish, English, Chinese…_

_Statistics, calculus, trigonometry…_

_World history, geography, economics…_

_Everything._

_Before the year was out, you were fluent enough in German, English and Romanian, as well as your native French and the Russian the Soldier had insisted you learn in your captivity._

_One day while you were still healing, he had come back from a mission in a foul mood and you were the first person he saw._

_He had thrown you down and removed your underwear, then thrust himself in without ceremony or any warm up for you. You bled for several days and stayed away from him._

_He always found you._

_You always fought back._

_The last time, you fought back so hard you’d somehow ended up on top with your hands around his throat and tears in your eyes. His metal hand was around your neck and you begged him to just end it right there. Strangle you, snap your neck, beat you, anything. “Finish it, you bastard—nngh—“_

_He came in you like that, then flung you off like you were a doll. The last thing you saw before he broke both your wrists was the impassive, emotionless face._

_Other times, he was gentle, taking his time with you and often bringing you to orgasm at least twice before chasing his own. He would lavish affection on your body, then hold you tight to him afterwards. He’d gift you with small things from the outside world, such as candy, flowers, books. He’d lay with his head in your lap as you read out loud to him._

_Those were the moments you cherished._

_Those were the moments you hoped would last._

_They never did._

_The missions kept coming and you kept killing._

_One day, many years after your capture, the Soldier approached you. “No mission today.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Stay here and study.”_

_You blinked. He was going out...alone? “But—“_

_The look on the Soldier’s face promised indescribable pain if you continued your argument. You shut up and bowed your head._

_The Soldier cupped your face and kissed you possessively. “Before I go…”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_You closed your eyes and slid your hand down to the apex of your thighs to get things started for you. The Soldier slapped your hand then ground himself against you as you reached down and grabbed his cock, rubbing it to life._

_He lifted you up onto the bed and dove between your legs, nipping and sucking on your clit._

_You were so close to cumming when he stopped and rose up between your legs. He put a hand on your throat and squeezed while he slid into you. You cried out as he set a brutal pace, gripping your throat so tightly you’d thought he’d break your neck._

_With a grunt and a punishing thrust, he emptied himself into you. As he came down from his high, he leaned in and grated “Mine” in your ear. You nodded as best you could, choking as he repeated “Mine!”_

_Before he let go of your neck, he ran two fingers down to your clit and stroked it; as he let go of your throat, you came with a hoarse gasp._

_This was normal: before missions, he liked to remind you exactly who you belonged to._

_The unspoken threat was always there: “Stray and I will kill you.”_

_He left you on the bed as always._

_This day, three weeks later, you sat on the floor studying Russian politics out of sheer boredom._

_The door flew open and you stood up._

_The Soldier darkened your doorway, holding a bundle. He stalked towards you and you backed up out of instinct._

_He stopped arms length from you and held out the bundle with two hands._

_The bundle **moved.** The Soldier motioned with it and you took it. The bundle **cried** and you opened it. _

_“A baby?! Where did you—?!”_

_“I’ve seen you looking at the minions with their young. It’s yours now. Raise it, train it, keep it out of my way—it’s loud and it stinks!”_

_And the bundle did stink. The baby—a girl, you found out—cooed in relief as she filled up the already full diaper. “I—I need supplies—“_

_“What kind?”_

_“Diapers, formula, cleaning things, clothes, toys, books—“_

_The Soldier had the look of someone who had bitten off more than he could chew. “I will make sure you have what you need. Keep it away from me.”_

_You held the messy baby closer to you, soothing her. The baby made fists around your hair and burbled._

_The Soldier left you with the infant, who began to fuss. You took her to the tub in your room and stripped her of her dirty clothes and diaper. You ran a warm bath for her, turning off the water when it got halfway to her belly button._

_She appeared to be about eight months old, with brownish hair and blue eyes. She sat up and splashed in the water, laughing as you handed her a cup to play with._

_“What am I going to do with you?” You asked the baby as you wiped her down._

_She responded with a smile and a giggle._

_“Well, you need a name…” you mused. You selected one that you’d have given a daughter of your own body. “I’ll call you Natalia.”_

_Natalia reached out with her chubby hands and you picked her up, placing her in a towel and rubbing her dry._

_“I’ll keep you safe, sweetheart.”_


	5. Chapter 5

“So what’s your plan?” 

“Ladies first.” 

“You want to flush him out, right?” You planted your hands on the table in front of you. “Do something out of his lane but blame him for it.”

Zemo nodded in understanding. “He relies on stealth, right?” 

“He wants to be seen on his terms. Why he took out that SHIELD op in broad daylight is beyond me and wouldn’t have happened unless someone ordered it so.” 

“Ah-ha. So who do we assassinate—I’m kidding!” Zemo recovered when you threw him an annoyed look. “Are bombings his style?” 

“Not particularly. He prefers to reach out and touch someone.” 

“Sniper’s motto. I think I may have something.” Zemo grabbed another set of papers from off to his side. “The Sokovian accords are in a few days at the UN.”

“Definitely not his style to do a mass bombing.” You shook your head. “You do the bombing then you frame him for it and it’ll flush him out from wherever he is.”

“Then I get to him and activate him and we sit back and watch the action.” 

“How do you get to him, though?” You wondered. 

“Well, to my knowledge, after an atrocity that we’re planning is committed, the suspect is taken for psychological evaluation.” 

“You pose as the psychiatrist and activate him, get your goal accomplished and when he’s done with whatever you need him to do, he goes back with me to Hydra.” 

“That’s a half assed plan,” Zemo groused. “But a plan nonetheless. I’ll do some digging…” 

“I need sleep,” you said with a yawn. “There’s only one bed so I’ll take the floor.” 

Zemo’s eyes hardened. “I don’t think so. There’s a perfectly good couch that I will take and you take the bed.”

Well, what a strange turn of events. You were used to being made to sleep on the floor while the Soldier slept in the bed. You were sure this was a trick, a test, but you were too tired to argue. 

You lay in the bed while Zemo took the couch—his insistence. He settled in and you both were asleep in moments. 

———

“Nein! NEIN!! Margo! Carl! Papa!” You woke to Zemo thrashing on the couch. He sat up, eyes wide with terror, chest heaving. You indiscreetly reached for the handgun you’d stashed in the side table while Zemo was readying himself for bed, unsure if to expect an attack or otherwise. 

Zemo’s breathing evened out and he looked around. Frantically, he scrambled out of the bed to his pack; you watched as he found his prize—a fifth of vodka—and downed half of it. Another bottle rolled onto the floor and he picked it up. 

You turned on the light to see tears streaming down his face as he polished off the vodka in the second swig.

“Zemo…?” You asked hesitantly. 

He turned to see you, startled, then turned away. “I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Nightmares.” 

“From the wars?” You inquired. You still had nightmares from your captivity and the deeds you’d been forced to do. Among other things.

“...related to, yes,” Zemo filled one of the plastic hotel cups with vodka from the other bottle, a larger one. 

“Who are Margo and Carl?” You asked. 

Zemo froze, then his shoulders sagged. “My...wife and son.” 

Oh shit. Your conscience seized with sympathy. “What...what happened?” 

“I thought they’d be safe,” Zemo said into the cup, tears beginning anew. 

You waited silently; Zemo continued. “While I was in the army in Sokovia, I met a girl. Her name was Margo. We got married and had a son, Carl. I got out of special forces to be a father.” His breath hitched. “Margo worked as a teacher; I couldn’t find work so she supported us on her meager pay. I stayed at home to look after Carl and I did odd jobs around the neighborhood for extra money.” 

He stopped to pour more vodka and took the shot. “I adored her. Every day she came home from work, I’d have dinner cooking and I’d rub her shoulders and ask about her day… Carl would climb into her lap and babble about his…” 

You shifted so you were sitting with your legs crossed on the bed. You had learned through experience with the Soldier that if you didn’t at least appear to be listening, pain would be the result.

“Tell me about her, your wife.” 

“She was a lovely, fierce thing, like a spring storm.” Zemo’s eyes closed as he reminisced about his lost love. “She had brown hair, like a good coffee, and grey eyes, like a gentle rain cloud. She loved chocolates, cats, cuddling on rainy days…” 

“You must have loved her very much.” Ah, to be loved. You knew this thing you had had with the Soldier was not love, not even close, but a codependency of sorts. 

“I did. Her smile was my reason to get up in the morning after the war.” 

“And your son?”

“A kind and smart boy. He was our little surprise,” Zemo chuckled at the memory. 

“Surprise?” 

“We weren’t planning a family, not yet anyways, when Margo found out.” Zemo smiled. “I...I think I fainted when she told me.” 

You suppressed a snort as the visual of the Winter Soldier fainting upon news of a pregnancy materialized in your head. 

It would never happen, though: the Soldier had had you sterilized while you were in that coma. 

“He loved his cat, spaghetti, his Avengers toys…” Zemo said bitterly. He took another shot. “He has just begun school and was going with Margo. I had a job interview that morning for security so I didn’t go with them.” 

You motioned for him to continue. 

“There was fighting. Carl wanted to see Ironman in action but Margo wasn’t so sure. She asked me if I thought they should leave. I told her that they were safe—“ Zemo buried his face in a the hand that didn’t hold the cup. His shoulders heaved. “My father knew better. He went to get them from the school because I had our car for the interview.” 

He let out a heavy sigh. “And then the city came down. I didn’t find them for two days. My father tried to do what I couldn’t do as a man: protect my family.” 

You didn’t know what to say. 

“And Captain America and the rest? They went home to their loved ones,” Zemo said bitterly, after knocking back, pouring and knocking back another shot. 

“And that’s why you want to break them up,” you replied. 

He stood on shaky legs and you recognized that he was inebriated—not that you’d blame him. 

As he staggered to the bathroom, you sat in contemplation. 

You could get what you want, Zemo could get what he wanted and you’d all live happily ever after. 

Or would you? You’d no idea what was in store for Zemo after his goal was accomplished, but for you...well, you weren’t sure. 

Did you want to go back to being cognizant and knowing of not only your past life, but your missing future? 

You didn’t have code words like the Soldier that could activate you; the Soldier forbade anything that had been done to him to be done to you. You didn’t go into cryo after a mission and you didn’t get your memory wiped. 

You remembered everything. 

Zemo returned from the bathroom and flopped into the seat, pouring another shot. 

You both were silent and you watched as Zemo’s knuckles got whiter around his cup. 

“You’re so much like her, my Margo,” Zemo slurred, reaching a shaking hand to your face. You froze, expecting the worst, but all Zemo did was stroke your cheek gently then move his hand. You got off the bed and looped Zemo’s arm over your shoulders and dragged him to the bed, thanking your enhanced strength. 

Remembering your youth and how alcohol impacted you, you filled a glass of water and found some ibuprofen in your bag and left both on the table, then tucked Zemo in. 

The baby faced former soldier continued to babble on about his wife and son. “...an’ one time, m’boy brought a snake home, a beautiful green thing…when it disappeared, he said it turned into a man, gave him a candy an’ left... 

You took a pillow and headed for the couch. Zemo grabbed your wrist. “...stay with me?” 

Fearing the consequences, you nodded, then crawled into bed with him. On a whim, you wrapped your arms around him and hummed a French lullaby from your childhood: 

_Dodo, l'enfant do,  
L'enfant dormira bien vite  
Dodo, l'enfant do  
L'enfant dormira bientôt._

_Lullaby, child, lullaby  
The child will quickly go to sleep  
Lullaby, child, lullaby  
The child will soon be asleep._

Zemo smiled a sad little half smile. “...that sounds lovely,” he slurred before dropping off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

As you slept with Zemo in your arms, you dreamed. 

_The child toddled after you to the bathroom. “I’ll be right out, hold on—“_

_You tried to shut the door to give yourself a little privacy—ANY privacy—but Natalia screeched like a banshee, so you sighed and let her in with you._

_In the two minutes you were in the bathroom, you had to rescue her from the tub, prevent her from ripping the toilet paper, kick the cabinet door closed, soothe Natalia from scaring her with the slamming of the door, sit on the lid of the toilet to prevent her from playing in the wastewater as the toilet flushed and rescue her from the tub again after she’d turned on the water._

_Despite that, Natalia was your sunshine in your sky. She was innocent, sweet and precocious, reminding you that there is good in the world after all._

_She grew up before your eyes._

_She was speaking before you knew it, asking questions of you that you suspected were normal for a child that age. “Mama, why is the sky blue? Why do fingernails grow? What’s a motto?”_

_The Soldier remained ambivalent. Overexcited over some accomplishment Natalia had performed, you’d rush to the Soldier to share it. The Soldier would “reward” you with a disapproving look at best, a slap for disturbing him at worst._

_You eventually stopped going to him, electing for him to come to you when he desired you._

_Natalia made exactly one attempt to be affectionate with the Soldier; he shoved her away and she tumbled, scraping her knee. You kept her away from him after that._

_Today, the door opened almost silently as Natalia read with a shaky voice the Cyrillic letters as she followed your finger along. The hair rose on the back of your neck as you registered the Soldier’s presence._

_“Natalia, sweetheart, let’s play a game,” you said nervously._

_Natalia looked up, eyes wide with knowing. She knew this phrase, this game. This was your phrase, your code between the two of you. Natalia got up and ducked into the bathroom with her book and toy radio. She turned the volume on the radio up as you disrobed, waiting._

_The Soldier wrapped you in his arms and bore you to the bed. He turned you around so you were bent over it._

_So many times, so many sessions._

_You watched from above as the Soldier prepared you for what he wanted, then took it from you._

_He wasn’t gentle but he didn’t leave you bleeding either. This time, anyways._

_As long as he left Natalia alone._

_“Mama, why do you let him do that to you?” The girl queried one day._

_“For your safety,” you said simply. The girl asked no more questions regarding your relationship with the Soldier._

_You blinked and she was eleven. No longer a child but not yet a woman. She’d begun to bleed, which necessitated an awkward conversation with the Soldier about supplies._

_Natalia was very smart, achieving fluency in not only Russian but English and French within several months._

_She’d begun to notice the way that the Soldier had treated you and you saw the storm clouds in her eyes when he came to you and she was made to wait outside._

_This time, as the Soldier rutted into you, she did not go outside as you bade her to do._

_Instead, she waited in the bathroom without a sound._

_When the Soldier finished, he dressed himself and turned to leave—_

_—only to be met with seventy five pounds of redheaded fury. It didn’t matter that she was tiny and underweight, what matter was that she was angry._

_She met the Soldier as one would a brick wall and bounced off. The Soldier wasn’t even phased. He reached for her and you stood, preparing to interpose yourself between him and her, to take the brunt of the punishment you were sure was going to come._

_Instead, the Soldier picked Natalia by the collar of her shirt and held her at arm's length. She screeched and lashed out with her fists and feet._

_The Soldier...laughed. Actually laughed. “She’s certainly got your spirit!”_

_“Don’t you touch her!!” You cried._

_“I won’t hurt her—hey, calm down there—ow!” Natalia’s foot connected with the Soldier’s ribs but was more of a glancing blow than anything but it got his attention. “She’s a fighter, this one.”_

_“Stop hurting my mom!” Natalia flailed some more until the Soldier grabbed her wrists._

_“Oh yeah, you’re ready.”_

_You paled. You knew what that meant._

_It meant Natalia would be taken to train. To follow in the footsteps of the Winter Soldier._

_“No—please—“_

_“Oh no, not yet,” the Soldier said, putting Natalia down. She pushed at him, with all the effect of pushing a tank. “She may be ready, but the red room is not. About three weeks.”_

———

“No! NO!” 

“Look at me—look at—hey, it’s not real, you’re safe—“ Someone cupped your face in warm hands as you heaved in great gulps of breath. “It’s okay, I’ve got you—“ 

Your vision cleared and you came to with Zemo’s concerned face staring at you. “Are you okay?”

You wrenched your face out of his hands and turned away from him. 

“Nightmare,” Zemo said solemnly, almost knowingly. You nodded your head in a jerking motion. “Can you tell me?” 

You shook your head, refusing to let him see you this weak. 

“It helps if you talk about it.” Zemo offered you a glass of vodka. You took the shot.

You couldn’t tell him what the dream was really about. 

“...it was a mission,” you lied smoothly. “We were tasked to kill some Brit in the early 80s. Someone preaching world peace. He was a singer in a popular band and everyone loved him.” 

Zemo refilled the shot glass and gave it to you and you downed it. “That was you? They said it was a guy.” 

It had been; you’d been wearing prosthetics. “I was smaller; it would have raised questions if the Soldier had done it.” 

“You didn’t want to do it, did you.” 

“I actually _liked_ his music,” you retorted defiantly. “But anyways, it was a supposed to be a simple mission but the guy deviated from his usual routine and I had to take him out in public. It went wrong and I thank my lucky stars I had the prosthetics.” 

Zemo gave you another shot. “That gives me an idea, though. Since you know about prosthetics, can you make me look like the Soldier?” 

“Probably. I need sculpting clay, tape, paints, gauze…” 

“It’s the middle of the night now, but first thing in the morning—after coffee, that is—we will hit up a craft store.” Zemo did not leave the bed, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Do you...did you want me to stay here?” 

Before you could stop yourself, you nodded shakily. It’s just for tonight, you tell yourself. 

“Okay.” He wrapped warm, strong arms around you. 

This feeling of being comforted was unusual to you. Unconsciously, you curled into him, accepting the warmth of his body. 

———

You woke before he did the next morning. You ducked into the shower, washing yourself of filth and travel, washed your hair and exited in about 10 minutes, your usual allotted time. 

As you dried yourself in the bathroom, you realized you’d forgotten your clothes—

—and there was a _man_ in the room where your clothes were.

You opened the door to the bathroom, hoping Zemo was still asleep. 

He was not. He stood up and stretched, wearing only his boxers, then turned to you. “Ah, a shower—“ 

And froze. 

The towel barely covered your upper body, leaving your legs and shoulders exposed. You had wrapped the towel as tight as you could around you, covering your breasts with your arms as well, and walked to your bag. Without looking at Zemo as he crossed the room to the bathroom, you took out your clothes. You waited until Zemo was in the bathroom to dress. 

He took longer in the shower than you did; your highly tuned senses picked up the sounds of rhythmic grunts, then a groan. 

You were finished dressing by the time the water turned off. 

“Hey, where’s the towel?!” 

_Shit._ You grabbed the towel you had and walked it to the bathroom. You opened the door—

—to catch a full view of Zemo’s backside AND a reflection of his front from the mirror in front of him. You threw the towel at him and slammed the door. 

Neither of you two could face each other over breakfast. 

———

“Are we going—“

“No.” _We are NOT going to talk about what happened this morning._

“—to the craft store?” Zemo finished lamely. 

“Yeah.” You slammed back the remainder of your now lukewarm coffee like it was vodka and picked up your purse. 

At the craft store, you barely contained a squeal. Canvases, sketch pads, pencils, inks and other media met your eyes. It had been years since you’d drawn and you felt the overwhelming need to create something rise in you. 

Zemo followed behind you, lazily grabbing a basket as you excitedly darted from display to display. 

You found the clays and paints in the hues and tones you needed; they went into the basket, along with— “You’re an artist?” You pulled out a sketch pad. 

“It’s not for me, Schatz,” he smiled, emphasizing on the diminutive and reminding you of the roles you both played. 

“I can’t, please, just—“ You flushed red as he leaned in, his breath warm on your neck. 

“Have a little fun, Liebchen,” he whispered against your neck. 

Your core trembled and your mind immediately went places it should NOT go. 

Especially considering who you belonged to. 

You turned the sketch pad over in your hands, hesitant to accept such a gift. 

“Just take it. Please,” Zemo said, holding out a package of colored pencils and another of charcoal. “No tricks, I promise.” 

You nodded, terrified of what could happen if you refused. The pencils, charcoals and sketchpad joined the other supplies in the basket. 

Zemo paid, at his insistence, and you both left.


	7. Chapter 7

Two hours, two cups of coffee and a shave later, you and Zemo stood looking over the supplies on the table. “Sit on the bed and take off your shirt—don’t laugh at me, just do it, this will stain your clothes!”

Zemo suppressed a smile and whatever wisecrack he was about to say, removed his shirt and sat on the bed.

You tried not to stare at his defined chest as you arranged your supplies.

“Close your eyes and relax your face.” You opened up your own makeup case and pulled out the cleansing facial wipes. You wiped down his face to remove any dirt and oils and extra debris from shaving, then applied tape to put his skin where it needed to be. 

“If you need to use the bathroom, I recommend you do so now. This is going to be a long process,” you said, working the clay in your hands to warm it up. Zemo nodded, too leery of disturbing the tape to speak. 

He returned after a few minutes and sat back on the bed. The clay sufficiently malleable, you glanced at him. 

“I, um, I have to sit on your lap to…” Oh hell, this is so embarrassing. 

Zemo gave you a rakish smile. “Okay.”

“If you try anything—“

“Oh I have no doubt you’ll put me on my ass,” Zemo returned. “Did I happen to mention I like that in a woman—ow!” He rubbed his shin where you kicked him. 

You positioned himself on his lap as you worked. A strip of tape, a little clay, some color here, shadow there… 

Something pressed against your thigh and you looked down. Through Zemo’s slacks, you noticed a _very_ prominent bulge in the crotch. You looked at him with uncertainty and he had the grace to blush. “It has a mind of its own.” 

You continued to work as you tried to ignore the bulge. It was difficult enough to keep down intrusive thoughts; the object of the intrusive thoughts wouldn’t go away, no matter what you did. 

You shifted somewhat to reach for a towel to dry off the brush and nearly fell. Zemo grabbed you around the waist to keep you from falling and pulled you close—

—close enough to be straddling The Bulge. Zemo drew in a sharp breath and you gasped involuntarily as it brushed your core. 

You looked up at Zemo frantically; he shifted so you were off the bulge and gave you a cheeky grin. 

“Ugh!” You pushed off of him, disgusted more at your thoughts than his reaction to you sitting in his lap. 

“Problem?” 

“Just...shut up and let me finish. I’m almost done with the molding.” You leaned over, hating that you were potentially giving him an eyeful down your shirt. Zemo purposefully didn’t look that direction. 

“Just a few more minutes so the clay dries,” you said. “Just sit there and _don’t. Move_.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Zemo replied with a grin. 

“I’m going out to get some dye or a wig, I’m not sure which. Your hair is the wrong color and someone will know. Stay here.” Truth be told, you just needed to get _out_ and clear your head. “Don’t take off the prosthetics until they’re completely dry if I’m not back by then.” 

Flustered, you wandered the streets for hours. It was nice to have a break but this break involved imagining a certain someone’s hands up and down your body… 

You shook your head to clear your thoughts as you ate a pastry. The thoughts stayed. 

The Soldier had literally been the first man you’d slept with, albeit unwillingly. You didn’t know why you were feeling the way you were but it was unsettling at best and worrisome at worst. 

You stopped by a beauty supply shop and picked out a wig approximating the Soldier’s hair length and color, a brush and some dye just in case.

It was nearly nightfall when you returned, hunger beckoning to you. 

Something that smelled absolutely AMAZING assaulted your nostrils. It smelled...homey. 

And then the Soldier stepped out of the kitchen. His hair was shorter and the wrong color but your mind panicked anyways. You froze, then bowed your head, an explanation or excuse for sharing your room with another man on your lips. He reached towards you and you flinched. You kept your hands to your sides and your head down, screwing your eyes shut, waiting for the blows—

“Schatz, it’s me—“ Zemo’s gentle voice broke through your terror. “You did a hell of a job.” 

Shocked by the praise, you looked up. The Soldier’s hard blue eyes were replaced by a gentle brown. It still took several minutes for you to calm down internally. “H-Have you figured out the distraction?” 

“Yes, I have.” Zemo pulled out a set of keys and pressed a button on the fob; a news van beeped outside. “I need the wig. The meeting is soon and I have to go.” 

You handed him the bag. He pulled out the wig and placed it on his head. 

You fought the panic rising in your throat again, the urge to flee, throw up, beg forgiveness, or all three as you pulled out the brush and the plain ball cap you’d purchased from the craft store on a whim. You brushed the wig with a shaky hand then handed him the ball cap. 

It was an uncanny likeness: your knees went weak and your eyes wide with terror. Zemo caught you as you fell and guided you to the bed. 

“...what did he do to you?” He asked softly, as if more to himself than to you. 

You answered anyways, barely reassured that it was Zemo in disguise and not, in fact, the Soldier. “I...I can’t talk about it.”

“He’s not here and he can’t hurt you.” Zemo kept his arms around you, as if protecting you. 

“I can’t.” You pushed out of his arms. “Don’t you have to go?” 

Zemo nodded, somewhat disappointed. “I’ll be back in a few.” He put a gentle hand on your arm and gave you a kiss on the forehead. “There’s schnitzel on the counter.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: rough sex, knife play, some blood, blood licking. YOU WILL NOT BE MISSIN ANYTHING other than they boinked. SKIP THIS CHAPTER if anything in the tags/warning gives you the ickies.

You ate—the schnitzel was delicious—and collapsed into bed even though it was the afternoon. 

_His hands ghosted over your hips and thighs, his lips closing on one of your nipples. You moaned and arched your back into him as he slid his fingers into you with care, mouth moving to your clit._

_You gasped as he slid his dick easily into your pussy pumped languorously in and out of you and you felt every delicious inch._

_Your climax was breathtaking._

You sat up in the bed as if from a nightmare. Your mind was playing tricks on you, because it wasn’t the Soldier’s face you saw in your dream. 

It was the middle of the night; you’d been asleep since the mid afternoon. A noise alerted you to someone’s presence. You looked over to the chair by the window; it was pulled away and close to the bed.

Zemo sat in it, hand sliding up and down his exposed cock lazily. The prosthetics and wig were removed and cast onto the table. 

“You were dreaming, Liebchen,” he all but _growled._

“A—a nightmare—“ 

“Oh, I don’t believe you,” he whispered dangerously. 

Holy shit, this was actually turning you on. 

But it was wrong, no matter what you wanted to happen. You shifted away from Zemo, nearly falling out of the bed, stood up and backed away. “We—we can’t—“ 

“ _We_ or _you_?” Zemo stood up and lazily walked towards you, hand still around his cock and pants riding dangerously low on his hips. “You’ve been having some… interesting dreams for the last few nights—“

“No I haven’t—“ You didn’t remember any other dreams but this past one—

“—involving me.” He closed the distance between you and him with a cunning look on his face. “We can cut this tension right here, right now and not blow our cover.” 

He slid his hand along your waist and you raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re playing a dangerous game here,” you said softly. 

Zemo leaned in and traced his lips against your jawline. “You really don’t feel anything, do you.” 

_I feel the need to rip off your balls via your throat._ “You know I belong to _him_ …”

A tongue flicked against your ear as he whispered: “He’s not here, is he?” 

It had been a couple of years and you were used to being thoroughly fucked after a mission; not having sex after one made you uneasy. 

As if to goad you on, Zemo whispered against your ear: “We have to at least pretend or we will lose our safehouse…” _Right, the landlady and her archaic views._

So you gave in. This was only a way to get what you wanted out of Zemo, you told yourself: the Soldier and your status in Hydra back. You nodded shakily.

“Words, Schatz.”

“...yes...I—yes…”

Zemo pressed his lips to your neck and gripped your waist with both hands. He ran them underneath your top and slowly slid it up but not off. 

You reached to ghost your hands over his trim abdominals. He was built well but not as defined as the Soldier, with a little pudge at his waist. You remembered he had been married with a child at one time as his left hand, the one with the gold band, squeezed your breast gently, and you dimly wondered what it would be like. 

To belong. To love and be loved. To have a family.

Your reverie was broken as Zemo roughly turned you around to pull you against his chest. He locked your arms behind your back with one hand and ripped open the button on your slacks, then thrust his hand down your black lace panties. He murmured something in Sokovian as he grabbed the opening of your shirt and ripped it open; buttons scattered everywhere as he removed it from your body. He bent you down over the bed and yanked your pants down roughly, leaving you in just underwear and a bra. 

“This treasure...no wonder he was so possessive of you…” Zemo breathed reverently, his eyes roaming over your back and ass. He cupped your butt cheeks, running his thumbs down your crack. He hooked one under your thong and tore it from you, then ran a large hand between your legs. “God, you’re dripping—“ 

This show of dominance wasn’t as much as you had experienced with the Soldier, but it was enough. Zemo pinned you to the bed with a strong hand between your shoulder blades as he loosened his pants. He eased his hardness out of his boxers and pressed the length against one of your cheeks, then leaned forward to give you a kiss on the back of your neck. 

You turned back to stare at him with one hard eye. “Do not finish in me.” 

_Nobody gets that privilege but **him**. _

Zemo bent forward again. “And what if I do?” He asked dangerously as he pressed slowly into your pussy. He was shorter than the Soldier but about as thick, still above average and you gasped at the sensation while Zemo groaned and bottomed out.

“What’s to stop me from fucking you until you bleed?” Zemo thrust into you, then wrapped his hand in your hair, immobilizing your head. “What’s to stop me from cumming in your tight cunt?” 

You struggled against his weight and his shirted chest continued to push you down as he withdrew, then SLAMMED into you, causing you to yelp.

“I can take you—“ he moaned breathlessly. “I can claim you—make you _mine_ —“ 

_No._ You allowed him two more thrusts—then stomped on his foot. Zemo cried out, more out of shock than pain and you felt his weight shift a little.

It was enough. You launched an elbow back that connected with Zemo’s temple and he staggered back as you rolled onto your back. 

Before you could bring your legs back to kangaroo kick him in the stomach, Zemo was on you again, one hand wrapping around your throat as he lines his hard cock up with your entrance and plunged back into you. Your hands struggled against him as he squeezed your throat and thrust into you, grunting each time his balls slapped against your ass. 

You flailed against him but he was in a position of advantage; his size and weight needed consideration but you didn’t have time for that. With one hand on his face—feeling his warm breath in ragged gasps against your palm—you reached for something, anything, to get your point across to him that you do not belong to him and—

—there! Under the pillow—his tactical vest! You felt along it, watching Zemo’s eyes roll into the back of his head in pleasure as his grip on your neck got tighter. 

Just as red began to creep into your vision, your right hand found a hard length—the handle of a knife. You grabbed onto it and drew it, then pounded the pommel against Zemo’s still bruised temple. He released your throat and backed up enough for you to plant your feet against his chest and shove. He fell on the floor with an “oof” and you straddled him, holding the knife to his neck as you yanked up on his shirt. 

If he was going to get what he wanted from you, you were going to take yours from him. You were in control of this charade now, not him. Before you could stop yourself, you straddled his hips and sank down on his dick; he steadied you with his hands on your hips to keep you from falling, hissing in pleasure as you let out an involuntary groan. 

You grabbed a fistful of his undershirt and pulled him up off the floor towards you as the knife began to bite into his neck. “If you cum in me, I will cut off your cock and balls and feed them to you,” you whispered, dangerously quiet. 

Zemo froze, a flash of fear momentarily crossing his face. You ground your hips down into his, an unspoken demand for him to continue. He nodded, then thrust up into you. 

“ _Harder!_ ” You grated. “Like you fucking mean it!” 

Zemo smirked and picked up the pace, fucking up into you over and over. Heedless of the knife at his neck, he reached a hand to the apex of your thighs and ground his thumb against your clit. 

You gasped and bent forward; Zemo pushed harder, fucking up into you. “—come on—that’s it—give it to me—“ 

You dropped the knife from his throat as your climax hit you with the force of a freight train. A tiny trickle of blood made its way down the side of his neck. He cried out and you jerked on his shirt to remind him of the threat. He frantically pushed up on you to unseat you, pulling out and spraying himself on your stomach with a jerk and a groan. 

On an impulse, you leaned forward and licked up the blood on his neck. Zemo hissed as you scraped the spot with your teeth. 

He took advantage of your momentary satisfaction and sat up against you, pinning your arms to your side. He lifted you bodily off of him then picked you up by your hair and threw you onto the bed. 

Something was different about this: it was a show of dominance but it felt...strange. Almost like Zemo had enjoyed you being dominant over him. 

Zemo pinned you to the bed with his body and began to mouth at your neck. “Did you cum with that little display? Is that what gets you off?” 

You snorted and Zemo kissed his way down your neck to your still bra-covered breasts. 

“This isn’t going to be fun if it’s one sided,” Zemo growled as he shifted the cloth aside and took a pert nipple into his mouth. “At least try to enjoy it.” He kisses his way down your body to end at the apex of your legs.

He grabbed your hand and guided it to his hair and wrapped your fingers in a clenching motion. You grabbed ahold and tugged hard. He rewarded you by licking a wet, warm stripe up your sex. 

“Nngh—“ You moaned as he ran a hand down your hip and over your thigh, his fingers teasing your sensitive cunt. 

“You looked so fucking beautiful when you came…” Zemo murmured against your stomach. “Gonna make you make that face again—“ 

You began to roll your eyes but the roll ended up being a gasp as Zemo put his mouth on your clit and tweaked it with his tongue. You arched your back as the sensitive bundle of nerves was manipulated again. Zemo grinned against you and slid his tongue into your cunt, scraping your clit with his teeth, rutting his rapidly hardening dick against the bed. 

Your core tightened up and—stayed that way as you writhed under his ministrations. “—gah!” 

“Mmm, you taste so good—tell me what you need—“ he whispered against your cunt. “Take charge—“

“More—I need—more— _there!—_ don’t stop—!!”

Zemo pushed your hips down as they rose of their own accord for more. “Come on, sweetling—cum for me—“ 

The coil snapped. Your vision went white and you cried out. 

As your orgasm washed over you, Zemo rose up and slammed his hard cock into you, shouting as he did so. He rode you through your climax, grunting and gasping, then pulled out and collapsed onto you. His cock pumped out his seed between your sweating and heaving bodies and you felt the sticky warmth collect right above your womb.


	9. Chapter 9

Zemo rolled off of you. He lay on his side, breathing heavily, an arm across your chest. You lay on your back, refusing to look at him, your own chest heaving. 

“That was…” Zemo struggled to find a word. “...exquisite.” 

You tried to sit up and fell back against the bed with a huff, post coitus haze preventing you from anything more than that. His seed was drying uncomfortably on your skin so you grabbed what remained of your shirt and wiped the mess away. 

Zemo sat up, back to you, and you rolled away from him. You heard him walk to the bathroom. 

The Soldier would not like this. Your heart skipped a beat when your thoughts landed on him. At best, he would beat you and starve you for your infidelity. 

At worst… it was very likely that “at worst” meant a broken neck. 

But in order to keep Zemo in line and to bring the Soldier home, you’d do what you’d have to do and face the consequences later. 

The bed dipped as Zemo slipped in behind you. You got up to go but he whispered in German: “There’s a device behind the mirror. Someone is listening to us.” 

“Why didn’t you remove it?” 

“If I did, they’d know who we really are. Leave it there, don’t say anything suspicious. I dropped a towel on it to muffle us.” _It’s audio only, no video and it’s low quality_ were the underlying implications. Zemo settled in behind you, throwing the blankets over both of you. “We have to act like a couple, do you understand me?”

You knew he was right. “We searched the room before we settled in. How did we miss it?”

“They must have placed it when I went to get ingredients dinner yesterday and when you were still out.” Zemo sensed your anxiety and wrapped a surprisingly gentle arm around you, chest to your back and planted a kiss on your shoulder. You must have stiffened because Zemo whispered reassuringly: “We will get through this. We have to.”

Semi-assured, you fell asleep in the warmth of his arms. 

———

The next morning, you were full of dread. “Let’s go out. I want to eat something.” _I have something to talk about that may compromise us._ Well, you really were hungry. 

Zemo broke into a smile. “Okay. We can do some sightseeing as well.” _Me too. We may be out for a while._

You rolled out from under his arm and slipped into the shower as Zemo stretched.

Away from the room and any listening device, you and Zemo wandered aimlessly around the city. There was no real goal; just two adults out for a walk. You both enjoyed a meal from a vendor and some coffee as you walked quietly down the street.

“If we have to do this, there’s going to be some rules,” you said after picking up some ice cream. After all these years and missions, one thing you never lost your taste for was chocolate ice cream. I didn’t matter what time of day it was; if there was chocolate ice cream to be had, you were having it. 

The Soldier had never been interested but Zemo’s face lit up. He selected strawberry and paid the vendor before you could pull out your wallet. 

“Oh? What kind of rules?” Zemo asked, spooning ice cream into his mouth. 

“One: don’t finish in me,” you said around a mouthful. “We may be stuck together but I do not belong to you.”

“Oh.” Zemo shrugged. “I thought it was because you didn’t want to get pregnant.” 

“I can’t get pregnant,” you replied flippantly. “But we’re both dead if he finds out we’ve... No matter what happens, it’s best he not find out.” 

“Ah.” Zemo nodded solemnly. “What else?” 

“I cum first.” 

“Okay?” 

“No anal.” You drew a hard line at that. The Soldier used anal as a punishment and you couldn’t enjoy it.

“Never has a taste for that anyways.” His bowl empty, Zemo threw it away into a nearby trash can. “Finished?” 

“With the rules, yes,” you said, nodding. You held your still half full bowl of ice cream away from his as he reached for it. 

“If that’s the case, I have rules too. One, I can’t keep calling you sweetling or darling. You need to use your name.” 

“I hate it,” you grumbled petulantly. 

“You’ll get used to it—“ Zemo said gently, unconsciously patting your back. “—Ilsa.” 

“What are your other rules?” You asked, eager to get off the subject of your name. 

“We have to at least try to look like a couple. Kissing, cuddling, holding hands,” Zemo slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you fought the urge to pull away. 

“And?” 

“If we fuck again, we...have to say each other’s names,” Zemo said in a rush, following up with: “it’s more convincing.”

He then leaned in close. “Follow my lead, we have a tail.” He moved his arm to your waist, then pulled you to him in an embrace.

Then he did something you would have knifed him over if it had happened this time yesterday: he kissed you. Deeply and passionately. 

And you forgot about everything. Zemo tasted of strawberry ice cream and desperation and...something else. Semi aware of what you were doing, you slid your hands around his waist and up his back. 

The kiss went until you both broke for air. Zemo whirled you around so he was looking over your head at the way you came. “They’re gone. Let’s...let’s go back.” 

You nodded, not sure what a good reply would be. 

You two walked in silence back to the room. As you passed the ice cream stand, a concept worked into your head. “I may have an idea of what to do with the bug.” 

“Oh?”

You grinned a feral grin. 

———

Several moments later, Zemo had you pinned against the wall in the room and was kissing your neck as you two stripped each other of your clothing. You gasped as he _bit_ your neck, grinding his groin into you; you returned the favor by dragging you nails across his back as you pulled him to the dresser. 

“God, you feel so good, Ilsa—“ Zemo groaned against your ear as he guided you back. Once your ass hit the dresser, he picked you up by it set you on the dresser. He grabbed your wrists and pinned you to it, guiding your hand to where the bug was. You moaned in what you hoped was a seductive tone as Zemo nipped where your shoulder met your neck, then cried out as he nipped you again. 

As he did, you felt the tiny button-like listening device beneath your left hand. You tilted your head back and grabbed the device as Zemo kissed his way down your torso then ran your free hand through his hair and tugged on it to let him know you broke the device free. He slid aside the crotch of your underwear and blew on your clit.

As he licked a wide, warm stripe up your pussy, you groaned and laid the device on the top of the dresser and tapped Zemo on the shoulder. 

He continued to lavish affection on your nether regions—until you tapped harder. Reluctantly, he rose up between your legs and leaned over to look at it, pressing his groin into yours as he did so. 

Zemo nodded—that’s it, that’s the bug—and you grabbed the television remote off the boudoir next to the dresser. You pressed it into Zemo’s hand then ran your hands up his back and pulled him to you. He thrust his still clothed groin against yours, appearing to be driving himself into you. From the angle the window was in relation to the boudoir and the dresser, he looked to be giving you the most amazing fucking of your life. You played along, gasping and moaning as the dresser thumped against the wall in time to Zemo’s thrusts. 

As Zemo thrust against you, he brought the remote down several times on the device. For all intents and purposes, it looked from the window that you two had unknowingly destroyed the bug during coitus. 

As soon as the bug was confirmed to have been put out of commission, Zemo reluctantly stopped his ministrations and pulled away from you, his length prominent through his boxers. “I’m...uh...going to the bathroom to take care of this…” he said, motioning to his straining underwear. 

Riled up yourself, your decision making capabilities exited your brain: you grabbed the straps on his A-shirt and pulled him to you. “Don’t start what you can’t finish—“ 

“But you started—mmph!”

As you kissed him as passionately as he had kissed you on the boardwalk, you ripped his shirt down the center and off of him. Once his shirt was gone, you reached into his boxers and released his cock from its confines. He groaned as you lined him up with you and you cried out as he bottomed out in you. He hooked your legs over his elbows and the change in angle caused you to moan. 

“I love it when you make that noise—“ Zemo grunted as he withdrew at a painstakingly slow pace, then slammed into you. He pulled almost all the way out against and drove into you, then began a brutal pace that had you gasping. “Come on, liebchen, cum for me—“ 

You were already worked up from the heavy petting and it didn’t take long for your cunt to clench around him. You held him to you as he leaned forward and pounded into you. 

He released one of your knees and balanced himself on the dresser. “I’m so close—I need you to—“ 

You arched your back and cried out as your climax approached you like an 18 wheeler. 

“Say my name, Liebling—“ Zemo gasped in your ear. “Say it—!” 

You obliged him by nearly screaming it as you came hard. Zemo thrust bodily into you once, twice and a third time, then pulled out, spilling himself onto your abdomen and thigh. He leaned heavily into you, chest heaving as he wrapped his arms around you. “Du bist so gut, liebchen, Du bist so gut,” he panted in your ear. You’re so good, darling, you’re so good.

As you came down, Zemo lifted you gently off the dresser and you locked your arms and legs around him. He turned and walked to steps to the bed then reverently lay you on it, rolling to his side. 

You lay in his arms as your breathing evened out. 

“What is this?” As you asked the question, you ran a finger down a white line on Zemo’s side. 

“That? Oh. It’s a scar.”

“From what?” 

“A knife fight in Berlin,” Zemo shivered slightly as you traced it with your finger. “I was fourteen.” _On a mission._

“And this one?” A puckered scar about the size of a coin near his belt line on his right side. 

“Attempted robbery when I was twenty three.” _Shot on a mission._

“And this one?” A set of scars on his right thigh. 

Zemo laughed. “Oh, that one? My sister bit me when she was two and I was four. I took her toy and she didn’t like that.” 

You snorted, then giggled and then you both dissolved into belly quaking laughter. You laughed because you had no idea if it was true or if it was a cover story to fool whoever may have been walking by—such as the landlady. The bug may have been destroyed but you didn’t want to take chances.

“You’ve such a beautiful laugh, Schatz.” Zemo smoothed hair away from your face and pulled you to him. You resisted slightly but in the end allowed him to kiss the tip of your nose, then the bridge, then the forehead. “Why don’t you have any scars?” 

And immediately, you withdrew from him. “The serum.”

He pulled you in close to him in a sympathetic embrace and you fell into an easy doze. 

You realized, just before you fell asleep, that you’d never felt safer. Not even with the Soldier.


	10. Chapter 10

You awoke to Zemo pressing you down gently with his body and ghosting soft kisses on your face and neck. You basked in the attention for a few moments as you rubbed his shoulders, then gently tapped him. 

“You...you can stop now…” 

“...mmm...don't want to…” Zemo planted several sloppy kisses on your face. “...please—I need to taste you again—“ 

_He’s so gentle...not like_ —STOP, you begged your brain. Don’t go down that path. This is business, not pleasure. 

But you still needed Zemo in league with you, so you said: “Okay.” 

Zemo rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You were confused on how this was going to work, until he gently pushed against you. “Sit up.” You did so and he tugged your thighs forward until you were grabbing the headboard of the bead and his mouth was on your clit. You gasped as he tweaked it with his tongue, staring up at you from between your thighs and locking eyes with you. “Mmm—“ He hummed against you as you grasped the headboard with both hands to keep from doubling over. 

You were so close— 

And then Zemo STOPPED. He gently pushed your hips back and you felt the tip of his cock probe your ass cheek. He guided your hips up and you finally caught the meaning. You lined yourself up with him and slowly slid down his cock until he was fully seated in you. “Fucking hell, you’re so beautiful like this—“ 

You placed your hands on his chest, marveling at the scars, and Zemo grabbed one of your hands. He guided it up to his throat and positioned it so your thumb was over his windpipe. “Press down every time I breathe out. If I tap once, I’m about to pass out. Twice means I’m about to cum.” 

You nodded, that feral grin taking over, and dug your nails on your free hand into his chest. He groaned appreciatively and placed his hands on your hips. Every time he exhaled, you pressed your thumb into his windpipe and he would fuck up into you faster. 

He was laying his life in your quite capable hand—hands, as your other one joined the first of its own accord. 

You could kill him right here, right now. He could die beneath you. “Harder, Ilsa—ngh!“ You pressed your thumbs further into Zemo’s throat, forcing his head back as he pumped into you. 

The Soldier never afforded you this trust. He frequently put his hands on your neck and squeezed until you thought you’d die but you were not given that same trust. You’d tried once and he had mercilessly beaten you: he’d broken your wrists and bloodied your face. The diluted serum you’d received when he’d shot you healed you quicker than an average human but it still took more time than his healing; in that time, he would still force your mouth around his cock and brutally shoved himself up your ass without lubricants in that time.

He treated you as a toy, a thing to be used at his leisure. 

Zemo treated you as an equal, someone worthy of his time. 

Your climax took you by surprise and you inadvertently dug both thumbs into his throat. 

Zemo wrapped a hand around one of your wrists, the other gripping onto your hip. “That’s it—do it— finish it—gahk!” You squeezed harder as the Soldier’s face floated before your eyes and your climax intensified. 

You imagined it was _his_ throat again, him begging you to release him. 

A frantic tap on your thigh alerted you to Zemo’s need for air and you let go, grabbing onto the headboard. He gasped in air and bucked up as you held onto the headboard, then patted your leg twice in succession. You pushed yourself up and Zemo cried out in ecstasy as he came against your thigh. 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to squeeze so hard—“ 

Zemo pulled you against his chest and kissed the top of your head, his chest still heaving and voice still hoarse. “You were perfect, darling.” 

You shuddered at the thought of how close you came to killing him. The Soldier was a monster; Zemo was something else entirely. You had injured him and his response was to _comfort_ you. Like it wasn’t your fault. 

You pushed away from him and curled in on yourself. Zemo put his hand on your shoulder and you flinched away.

“Was it his face you saw?” The question did not contain any malice or jealousy and was, in fact, gentle and sympathetic. 

You decided to be honest, no matter the consequences. “...yes.” 

Zemo laid that gentle hand on your shoulder and you allowed him this time. “...how bad?” _How badly did he hurt you?_

“Bad,” you sniffled. 

“...you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…”

“But I do,” you said quietly. 

And so you turned around and sat up, then launched into the story of how you came to be you.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for child illness and death, past abuse and sexual assault. This end of this chapter is important so you can skip past the sex if that’s not your thing.

“I was born in France in the late 50s, I’ve forgotten the date.

When I was twenty two, Hydra raided my village and I and several other women were taken captive.”

You talked for hours and Zemo...listened. He didn’t degrade or speak down to you, he didn’t hit you, he didn’t do anything but listen. 

“...he...did unspeakable things to me, he had my friends murdered… he…” You sobbed as you held your hand over your womb, which would remain empty and barren for as long as you lived. 

Zemo took your hand in his without speaking and squeezed it reassuringly, a hardness to his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t submit to him so he forced me to submit,” you whispered hoarsely. “So I waited.”

The memory was so fresh even though it had been almost forty years ago. “...I found an opportunity and I tried to...to kill him…” You paused and looked over at Zemo, expecting him to interrupt or lecture you on your technique.

Zemo merely nodded and rubbed your hand encouragingly.

“I...I failed and he tried to return the favor.” 

Zemo’s jaw clenched but he remained silent. 

“To save my life, he gave me the last of the super serum. It was heavily diluted,” you said quickly. “So I’m not as strong or fast as him but still stronger than an average man. You once asked me why I didn’t have scars?” 

You took Zemo’s hand and pressed it to the skin under your right breast. “Here, but in the back.” You moved his hand over to rest about a hand width above your navel. “And here.” 

You flinched when Zemo tried to pull you into an embrace, so he stopped. 

“During surgery, he destroyed my ability to have children. Said he didn’t want any.” Your eyes welled at the lost opportunity. “He trained me to follow in his footsteps…but he absolutely refused to have my memory wiped. Said ‘one of us has to remember’ but when I asked what and why, he beat me.”

“We...we went out on missions and assassination together… until…he forbade me to accompany him…” 

Zemo sat up and settled himself against the headboard, then pulled you to him so your back was against his chest. You saw his face reflected in the blank television screen in front of you, a mask desperately trying to contain some type of rage. Before you lost your courage, you continued. 

“One day, he came back with this little girl. A baby. He dropped her in my arms, told me ‘it’s yours now’ and was gone again. I was never allowed to go out on missions after that.” 

Zemo spoke for the first time. “What was her name?” 

“I named her Natalia.” You smiled. “She was the sweetest thing: she always had a flower or a drawing for me.” You left Zemo’s arms and grabbed your backpack. From a side pocket, you pulled out a weathered piece of paper in a plastic bag. 

On it was a drawing of two smiling stick figures holding hands. One, the taller one, had your hair and eye color and the shorter one had blue eyes and red curls. In Cyrillic letters, across the top, was written “mama and me”. 

The tears flowed freely now as you returned to sit besides Zemo on the bed. “I...I don’t want to think of what he did to her parents. She never knew her birth mother.” 

“What happened to her?” 

“He made me train her. He made me...make her like him but without the serum.” 

“Where is she now?” 

You let out a shuddering sigh. “I...don’t know. He...he took her when she was eleven. She was very sick and needed help so he took her.”

“She...she didn’t come back, did she?”

You shook your head. “I’ve always held out the hope that she’s alive and escaped him. The nightmares I’ve been having? They’re not of missions.” 

Zemo stood and held you close to him as you finished. “They’re of seeing him take my girl away. She was so sick...” 

_She’d been unconscious for a day and a half before you risked the beating to beg the Soldier for help. “Please—she’s so sick—I can’t treat her here—please, we’ve got to help her!”_

_He looked down at the child breathing slowly in the bed, a fevered appearance to her, then back to your panicked face. For once, he did not question you; he merely helped you wrap her in a blanket and lifted her like a baby in his arms. “Stay here,” he commanded softly. “You can’t come to the clinic if she’s sick. She’ll need to be quarantined.”_

_Relieved to be heard for the first time, you dropped a kiss on Natalia’s head as the Soldier strode out of the room with her in his arms._

_The last time you saw her was wrapped in a blanket in the Soldier’s arms as he carried her away._

_The next day, you’d begged to see her._

_“She died” was the curt reply._

_You screamed out your grief against his chest, no longer afraid for yourself. Why? What was the point if your only reason for waking up was gone?_

_Your hindbrain tried to get your attention that this was going to result in a beating but you ignored it in lieu of exposing your grief._

_But the Soldier did absolutely nothing to you. He just held you against him as you sobbed and screamed and railed against the unfairness of it all._

When you were done sobbing, Zemo muttered something in German that sounded like “I’ll fucking kill him” and you turned to face him. 

“You can’t. If you can’t face Captain America, you can’t face the Soldier. They’re of the same serum. Hell, you can’t even beat me and I only have the diluted version!” 

Zemo cupped your face in his hands, rubbing your tears away with his thumbs. “He has to face some kind of justice for what he’s done to you and Natalia.” 

“Helmut—“ You spoke his name and he met your eyes with his own. “You cannot confront the Soldier about me. He’ll know about us and—“

“I WANT him to know—“ Zemo argued, a dangerous look on his face.

You recognized it as one of possession but of different type than the Soldier’s. 

“You CAN’T—“ 

Some inner struggle painted itself on Zemo’s face. “Okay.” 

You weren’t entirely convinced. “Promise me you won’t, Helmut.” 

Zemo’s eyes flicked away from you as he sighed. “I promise.” 

“I’m fucking serious. He WILL kill you, then me or he’ll kill you in front of me—“ Panic rose into your voice, something you’d never experienced before. You grabbed his face with your hands and forced him to face you. “PROMISE ME, damn you!” 

Sensing the abject terror in your voice, he nodded. “...for you, I promise.”

“Let me deal with him, Helmut. At least you’ll be safe.” 

Zemo wrapped his arms around you and kissed you gently, then deeper as he held you to him. 

Feeling his need, his urgency, you opened your heart and soul to him. You wrapped your arms around him, allowing him into the very heart of you, shattering everything evil and vile you’d become. 

And you wanted this. You wanted his touch, his heart, his love. 

His desire of you made itself known against your core and you shifted to allow him access. He lay you back on the bed as if you would break if he dropped you, then kissed you gently. His hands took their time wandering over your body and you gasped as he slid a finger, then a second into your canal as his tongue explored your mouth. He positioned himself between your legs and kissed and licked your way down your body. 

His mouth found your clit and you cried out as he traced his tongue over it. Your hands wound their way into his hair as your hips bucked up into his face of their own accord. Zemo slid his arms under your thighs and wrapped them around to hold your hips down. 

Just before you came, he rose up between your legs and kissed you; you tasted the tang of yourself on his lips. As you kissed, you sat up, pushing Zemo into a sitting position. You grabbed the headboard as Zemo pulled your chest to his face, taking an erect nipple into his mouth. 

As he did, he guided your hips to straddle his own and you blindly reached down to guide him into you as you sank down onto him. 

The kiss between you two was a desperate one filled with longing as he rocked into you and you rode him—

“Ilsa—Liebling—I’m close—“ 

You remained firmly seated in his lap as Zemo gasped and cried out your name in warning. He stared into your eyes with confusion, then understanding, and you could feel his thrusts getting shallower and faster. You held onto his shoulders as he moved a hand to your face to keep your eyes locked on his. 

“Come on, that’s it—“ he coaxed gently as your climax approached. “Look at me—“ 

You did.

Your climaxes were simultaneous and instantaneous. As you clamped down on him, he moaned your name. You felt every twitch, every movement. You felt him empty himself into you with a cry of your name and with his on your tongue, you dissolved into nothingness and were rebuilt whole and complete in his arms. 

He clutched you to him, breathing heavily into your ear as you lay your forehead head on his shoulder. “Ich liebe dich, mein Gott, ich liebe dich…“ 

Your eyes teared up as you returned the sentiment with a kiss. 

“When this is finished...you and me? Start over?” He asked when you’d both come down. You lay your head on his shoulder, trying to even out your breathing. 

You nodded, keeping your head on his shoulder so he wouldn’t see your tears. 

Because you knew this wish of yours couldn’t come true.


	12. Chapter 12

You woke alone, his spend sticky on your inner thighs. A note left on the table informed you that Zemo would return, but to expect a visitor by the name of Broussard shortly. 

You showered, luxuriating in the water because you could and because nobody would stop you. You didn’t scrub Zemo’s seed from your legs like you did the Soldier’s, electing to let the water wash it away and disappointed that it wouldn’t stay.

You ordered a filling meal for only you because you _could_. Your meals were basic caloric intake needs only—nothing extraneous outside of the chocolate ice cream you’d sneak after missions—so the excess of food felt like a luxury.

You bought an expensive bottle of Reisling because you _could_ , with the intention of drinking the whole bottle. Because of the serum—even though it was diluted—you couldn’t get drunk but it didn’t matter. It was because nobody could stop you from drinking the entire bottle.

Broussard showed up as you were finishing your meal. He was a pleasant tempered, middle aged man, intelligent and...oblivious. You wondered what Zemo had in store for him as you offered him a glass of Reisling (which he declined) and then a glass of water (which he accepted). 

“So you and your husband have been having marital difficulties?” Broussard asked. 

Internally shocked, you went with it. “Yes.” Zemo hadn’t told you why Broussard was here. 

“Can you tell me why?” 

_Damn it—_ “He made large purchases without asking me, among other things.”

“Don’t forget about the clubbing and the gambling, darling!” Zemo had returned without you hearing and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “I can’t apologize enough for that but I thought some counseling would be beneficial to us.” He handed you something—a bar of chocolate—and gave you a secret smile. You raised your eyebrow at him and he nodded. _It’s started._

And you smiled. 

“So we start with three sessions and work from there.” Broussard sat on the couch while you two sat on the bed. You all went through your fake history: names, birthdates, origins, etc. as he dithered on about appointments and the necessity of keeping them. 

It was decided that Broussard would come back in two days, which you readily agreed on. It would give the international police time to find the Soldier if he wasn’t here in this city.

Zemo bade Broussard farewell and closed the door behind the older man, then turned to you. “That went well, I think.” 

You snorted. “It’s bullshit, but it’s a good cover.” 

“My dear—“ Zemo pulled you up off the chair and held you to him, slipping a hand down your pants and meeting your mouth with his. “—it’s at least SOME cover.”

———

Two days later, Broussard showed up for your “appointment”. 

You set out some pretzels and nuts as well as lemonade and all three of you took a seat at the tiny table. Zemo gripped your hand reassuringly and you put on a sunny smile. For an hour, Broussard asked questions of the extent of your relationship, all while drinking the lemonade; you and Zemo answered appropriately, having discussed your “marital background” further the previous night. 

“...and I have a gambling problem,” Zemo said, snapping you out of your ennui. 

“Well, that’s a good step, acknowledging your own issues—“ Broussard’s phone beeped and his eyes widened as he looked down at it. 

“Is something wrong?” You asked innocently.

“I must get going, an emergency has come up.” 

“Oh what a shame,” Zemo said brightly. 

“Might I use your bathroom before I leave? I’ve a long trip.” Broussard questioned.

Zemo nodded, a strange glint in his eye. You squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, darling, I must go find something for dinner.” You stood and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

You closed the door behind you, hearing the sound of a knife being drawn. 

This was dangerous, stepping out on your own. The listening device was a Hydra device, which meant any number of “impending doom” things, but you had to find the Soldier. 

The explosion would have drawn him out.

You stopped at a cafe. The reporter on the television in the background babbled on about a James Buchanan Barnes. You turned to the TV—

—to see the Soldier staring back at you. 

And your heart fell into your stomach as you recalled that face hovering over you and the pain associated with it. The intrusions, the indignity, the horror, all of it resurfaced. 

You stood suddenly and walked back to the hotel room. 

As you did, Zemo’s face replaced the Soldier’s in your head. You recalled his touch, his look, his care with you—all different than the Soldier. Your breathing evened and your heart rate slowed as you were reminded of the feeling you felt with Zemo. 

It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t terror, it was something else. 

Something you didn’t deserve.

As you reached the room, your bladder demanded attention and you didn’t have time to wonder what was going on. You rushed to it—

Only to find it locked. “I have to use the bathroom! Open up!”

“Hold on, just a minute! I’m almost done—“

“Hell, I’ll just use the other one—“ You ran to the other bathroom, the one that was farther from the bed and wasn’t used too often, and opened the door. You stepped inside and threw open the lid and sat down with a relieved sigh—

—that nearly ended up as a scream. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” 

Broussard’s lifeless eyes stared at you from the tub. There was an angry red line across his throat. 

You’d seen dead bodies before but not in a personal bathroom. You finished up and washed your hands. It was a professional job, done in the tub with little to no blood spray and even that was reduced to just the curtains. 

You opened the door to step out into the hallway. “What the fuck—“

“Sorry!” Zemo held up his hands in supplication. He switched the subject immediately. “I found out—before he died, mind you—that this is the man who is on call to interview international suspects—“ 

You mind went back on track. “But they’d know you’re a fake if you tried—“ 

“But he’s NEW to this area and the next interview with his name would have been his first at the UN.”

“So no one knew him?” 

“No!” 

“Wait a minute…” You gave him a dubious look. “I’ve been gone for several hours, what the hell have you been up to?” 

Zemo gave you a wicked grin. “I’ve been a busy boy.” 

You narrowed your eyes. 

“Okay so I found out that the Soldier was taken into custody while you were out,” Zemo said hurriedly. “I’ve assumed Broussard’s identity and checked in at the UN; any minute I should be getting a notification to come in. In the meantime—“ He grabbed you around the waist and bore you to the bed. “—this may be the last time we are together and I want to make it worth it.” 

You wriggled out of his grasp and pushed him backwards onto the bed, knowing exactly where he was going with this. 

It didn’t matter that there was literally a dead body in the other room; what mattered was he wanted _you_ , right here, right now and you wanted _him_.

And he took you, gently and lovingly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving kinda quickly here.

You woke mid afternoon. Zemo was not there. A note was left for you on the table: _“got called in, will be back this evening.”_

And once again, you had the place to yourself. You packed your meager belongings, anticipating having to leave, then sat and caught up on the news. 

The Soldier was indeed captured. Your feelings fought themselves inside your head. Hydra had disowned you but did you really want to go back to them now anyways?

Zemo came back around dinner time. “Where do you want to go to eat, Liebchen?” He asked as he took off the tweed jacket he’d been wearing. 

And that was when the power went out. 

Your hair stood on end, a telltale sign that something was about to happen. 

And then the windows shattered. 

“Peregrine! Remain where you are!” An authoritative voice in Russian shouted a command and you heard the sound of safeties being taken off. They didn’t wear international police uniforms—they wore Hydra octopi on their sleeves. 

“What the hell—?! Peregrine?!” Zemo threw up his hands. “THAT was your code name?!” 

You bristled, eyes towards the Hydra soldiers, thinking this was it, this was when he would betray you— 

“You’re the second best assassin in the world?!” 

You bristled again, but for a different reason. _Second_ best?? “Okay, we do NOT have time for this—“ 

The Hydra minions charged. _Long range weapons, must be nonlethals—either they don’t want to make a scene or they want to take me somewhere else—_

There were four of them—undermanned as hell, you smirked to yourself. You let one minion fly past you to smash into the couch and fall over it, then engaged the second and third while Zemo took the fourth. 

The agents were small potatoes compared to what you’d dealt with; after a few punches and kicks, all four were down, unconscious or otherwise. 

Zemo straightened up and faced you after grabbing your handgun which he used to dispatch all four with a round to the temple then dismantled it and tucked the pieces into several grocery bags, handing two to you. “We’ve got to swap trade secrets one of these days…” 

“We’ve got to go—“ You retorted.

“I agree—“ Zemo fished your handgun from the drawer where it was hidden for the last two weeks. “I need to go to Siberia.” 

You nodded, lips set in a grin line. “I’ll meet you there.” 

“Liebling, you can’t—“ Zemo tucked the handgun into the waistband of his pants and reached into his shirt. “If, for whatever reason, I do make it out, I’ll meet you in Australia.” 

“Where? That’s a big damn country.” 

“Little town about two hours west of Canberra. I have an old army buddy that retired out there. His name is Leichstein, Markus Leichstein. He owns a ranch out there. Here, take this—” Zemo grabbed your hand and pressed something metallic into it; you opened it to see his military ID tags. “So he knows it’s from me. If I make it out of this, I promise I’ll meet you there. It may take a lifetime, but I’ll meet you there.”

Despite yourself, you felt tears brimming in your eyes. “I’ll wait for you.” 

Zemo pressed his lips against yours in a deep kiss. “Ich Liebe dich, don’t forget that.” 

Your response was to return the kiss, afraid that if you gave voice to the words, you’d truly never see him again. 

The sound of sirens broke you both apart. After a final desperate kiss, Zemo took off with his bag and you took off with yours, ensuring you had everything. 

———

The bomb site was still fresh after several days. You stood amidst the rubble admiring Zemo’s handiwork, wondering what had called you to this spot. 

“Ma’am, you can’t be here—“ A gentle female voice, American with the barest hint of Russian accent, shook you out of your reverie. You turned to apologize and leave—

—and froze. “Natalia…?” 

She was barely over five feet tall, with shoulder length red hair and large blue eyes, eyes you’d know anywhere. She stared back, those eyes wide and her mouth opened. “Who are you?” 

You ran to her and embraced her. “My daughter—my child—“ you sobbed into her shoulder. 

She wriggled out of your grasp. “Daughter—?! Who are you?!” 

You cupped her face with your hands. “Look at me, dogoraya, see me—“ 

Her eyes widened further and filled with tears. “M-mama?” Her hands went to your wrists—

—and your heightened senses alerted you before she could twist them away. You pulled your hands away from her. “He trained you...didn’t he?” 

The woman’s eyes narrowed and she launched herself at you. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you recognized the way she charged at you. You set yourself into your defensive stance as the girl you once knew as Natalia attacked you. 

As out of shape as you were, this was not a fight you could win. Low level Hydra agents were one thing; an allegedly Winter Soldier trained operative was a horse of a different color. You let her get about an arms length from you before you stepped aside, letting her fly past. As she did, she pivoted right into you, barreling you to the ground. You pushed her up enough to where she was sitting on you, whereupon she launched several punches to your face. None of them hit; you knocked them aside and punched up with your wrist, hitting her chin. She fell off of you and you scrambled away towards your bag. 

You grabbed it just as she latched onto your ankle, tripping you. You twisted as you fell onto your side, using the momentum to lash out with your bag. You managed to smack her in the face with it; she reeled back. You used that opening to scramble to your feet and went to hightail it out of there when her voice stopped you. 

“Wait.” 

You turned. 

She sat on her knees, holding the drawing you’d been carrying around for twenty years.

“I think we need to talk somewhere privately,” Natalia said quietly. 

———

“I...I remember drawing this for you.” 

An hour later found you and Natalia in a cafe as you blotted the scratch above her eye where your bag had cut her. 

“He told me you’d abandoned me, that you tired of me.” Natalia sniffed. You gathered her to be in her mid 30s; had time been kinder to you, you were old enough to be her birth mother. 

“I’d never abandon you,” you said as gently as you could, furious that the Soldier would have said such a thing. 

“I felt so awful,” Natalia said. “I was so sick and there was nothing there but him—Why didn’t you come for me?” 

Tears came to your eyes as you shakily exhaled. “He...he told me you’d died. I even visited your grave—“ _Seeing that little headstone with her name engraved on it just renewed the grief; you collapsed to your knees, sobbing with horror and subdued rage. The Soldier laid a hand on your shoulder and left you to your tears and ghosts._

“That explains plenty…” Natalia mused, flinching as you applied a bandage. 

“How do you mean?” 

“He told me the child in me was dead and my new name was Natasha.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. “My poor child…” 

Natasha shuddered. “Now...now everything is different with him… he’s a completely different person. He’s not the Soldier anymore...” 

Your hands clenched together. “As much as I’d like to believe that, I can’t.” 

“Mama…” Natasha stood up and faced you, a look of uncertainty in her eyes.

“I...I have to bring him home,” you said gently. 

“I can’t let you do that,” Natasha almost whispered. You steeped yourself for what was sure to follow: an all out brawl. 

“He’s brainwashed you…” 

“No, Mama, I promise—“ 

You clenched your fists, preparing for the fight that was to come. 

It never came. “Mama, you have to leave. Go now. Go before someone finds you—“ 

Your eyes widened as you recognized the look she was giving you: _somebody is following you._ Without turning, you embraced her in a maternal hug, glancing at the window of the cafe. 

Indeed, there was a person following you. A Hudra agent.

“Take care of yourself, Natalia—“ You planted a motherly kiss on your daughter’s cheek and fled before she could say a word.

———

You ended up going to Siberia anyways. There was no need to hunt Zemo down; you knew exactly where he was going. 

You stowed away on the passenger jet, following Zemo but staying just out of his sight. 

You hid, knowing you couldn’t face him yet, and you listened to the sounds of gunfire and then men yelling and battling. 

You watched as Zemo sat on the rock, looking out over the Siberian wasteland, speaking indiscernibly to a young man in a blacker than night suit. 

You panicked as Zemo pulled out his sidearm and held it under his chin, the man grabbing it and stopping the bullet with his hand. 

The sounds of a fight finishing up caught your attention: Do you stay with Zemo in the unknown man’s craft? Or do you stay with the Soldier? 

And you made your decision. You hid in the cargo area of the jet that Captain America had flown. You could catch up with Zemo later; if he was in Interpol custody, he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. You fought the urge to throw up as Natasha ran past you, then as she and the captain pulled the Soldier, broken and bleeding, into the jet. 

And, questioning your sanity, you _remained_ on that jet as it took off to parts unknown.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter!!

_Zemo leaned towards the Soldier, a dangerous look in the shorter man’s eyes. “You don’t deserve her, you know.”_

_The Soldier’s eyes darkened but he didn’t move._

_“She’s beautiful, kind, smart, talented… all things you’ve refused to recognize. You had her for forty years.”_

_The Soldier flinched, as if he was trying to make a move but holding himself back._

_“Well, let me tell you something: I’ve had her for two weeks and I will go to the ends of the earth to protect her from you.”_

_The Soldier took a step towards Zemo, who refused to move._

_“She’s so good in bed, too. I’ve had a taste of her.” Zemo licked his lips. “She’s too good for you in every way and you know it.”_

_The Soldier broke out of his mental confines and lunged for Zemo, wrapping his hands around the other man’s throat and squeezing._

_“—don’t you—agck!”_

_The alarm sounded and the Soldier threw Zemo against a wall and Zemo sagged to the floor, semi-conscious._

_He came to several moments later, hearing voices. “...help!”_

_Rough hands grabbed him by the lapels and hoisted him up, slamming him against the same spot the Soldier had thrown him. “Who are you?! What do you want?!”_

_“...to see an empire fall…”_

———

You snuck aboard the jet you saw Captain America and Natasha drag the Soldier into after the fight and stowed away among the cargo. 

As you huddled in your jacket against the cold, you contemplated your future. 

You knew the Soldier would find out about Zemo the first time you two fucked. Whether by lingering scent or by the feel or whatever, he’d know. 

You were dead no matter how this panned out. 

But you’d face your death with your head high and your chest out. 

Hours later, the jet touched down in a technological paradise. You snuck your way into the hospital as Captain America and Natasha greeted and spoke to a man with dark skin and a kingly bearing.

The Soldier sat on a chair looking...defeated. Shrunken. Deflated. He was missing the arm you feared and your courage went up slightly. Even one armed, The Soldier was still a force to be reckoned with. Your footsteps caused him to look up. 

“You’re not—who are you?” The man that wore the Soldier’s face stared at you. “I feel like I know you but I don’t know from where.” 

Your heart felt strangely freer as you recalled both Natasha’s and Zemo’s words—but at the same time, you were paranoid. “How…? You’re the Soldier—“

The man shook his head and put his face into his hand. “I don’t want to be.” 

This had to be a cruel trick. “How do you not remember who I am?” You asked, voice higher pitched than you want it. 

“I’ve seen you before, I know your face, I just don’t know from where—“ 

“Soldat—“ 

“My name is _Bucky_.” The hardness you were used to replaced the fear and confusion in the man’s voice. You flinched but held your ground.

“You don’t remember me at all?” You all but shrieked. “You spent years—DECADES training me to be like you—raping me, beating me and you almost killed me—you took away my daughter and you trained her to be like you—you took away my ability to be a mother and now all of a sudden _you have no idea who I am?!_ ” 

The man’s face paled with every accusation. Frustration and rage taking over, you slapped him, only realizing what you’d done when you pulled back. 

The man...did nothing at first. A look of confusion, regret and hurt crossed his face as he got up. You steeled yourself for the worst and he—

—wrapped his arm around you. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please—“ 

Taken aback, you froze. “Are you…?” Are you activated?

“No, I’m not. Never again.”

You dissolved into tears and relief into Bucky’s arm. 

Never again would you have to fear anything. Never again would Natasha be in danger. Never again. 

“He...he wants a word with you.” 

The chill that crept up your spine rivaled the Siberian chill from when the Soldier had locked you into a frozen room. 

“I’m scared…”

“Me too,” Bucky said. “He’s saying he’s sorry that he kept forgetting you…that he hurt you. He says he didn’t let you out because he wanted you safe, that he didn’t have a choice but to take away Natalia—Natasha—he says he loves you.”

You stared up into Bucky’s face. “And you?” 

“Do I lo—no, no I don’t. I…” Bucky’s eyes jerked towards the tall blond man who was still engrossed with the kingly man. Natasha was nowhere in sight. 

The way Bucky’s eyes lingered on Captain America was reminiscent of the way you had stared at Zemo. But still...

You were both silent for several moments. Then: “He wants to talk to you.”

You froze, uncertain. 

“You can say no.” Bucky’s chest rumbled pleasantly. “He doesn’t own you any more than I do.” 

You pulled back and looked up at Bucky. “And I will: no.” 

“Go on. Be free, then.” Bucky smiled. He cupped your face and brushed away a tear with his thumb. “Live your life without fear of him anymore.” 

“Thank you.” You embraced Bucky one last time, then turned to leave. 

“He’s pissed,” Bucky chuckled as you walked away. 

“Without codewords, he can't do anything about it!” You replied cheerily. 

You were FREE. For the first time in decades, you could live without fear of the consequences. 

“Mama.” 

Except for this one. You turned to see Natasha, her hands in her pockets, a soft look on her face. 

“You were right, dogoraya,” you said softly. “He is a different person. You two haven’t…?” 

Natasha gave you a bemused smile. “I thought you picked that up when you were talking to him: his tastes aren’t towards women.” 

You fought the urge to giggle. “That...explains a lot, actually.” 

“Where are you going?” 

“I don’t know. Hydra is still tracking me and I’d rather not lead them to you or th—Bucky? Is that his name now?” 

Natasha stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you. “Wherever you go, I hope you are safe. I’d understand if you didn’t keep in contact, though I wish you would.” 

“You know I can’t, dogoraya; it's too dangerous right now.” 

“I know,” Natasha sniffled, her head buried against your chest. “Contact us soon?” 

“I’ll try.” 

“There’s a flight leaving soon; you can hop on that then hop onto the next flight to wherever—don’t tell me, I can’t know.” Natasha stepped back and pulled out a credit card. “Here. It’s untraceable and it’ll get you back on your feet.” 

“I can’t take your money—“ 

“It’s not mine,” Natasha smiled mischievously. “Best not to ask who it belonged to…” she finished with a wink. The card had an underwater scene with an octopus on it.

Motherly pride notwithstanding, you hugged her again. 

“Let’s get you on the next plane out,” Natasha smiled at you through glistening eyes. 

In a few hours, you were sitting on a private jet bound for some city in Africa. There, you’d bounce from Austria halfway around the world to Australia. Your heart soared.

Yet you were saddened as the plane taxied down the runway. 

For you realized there’d be next to no chance for you and the someone you truly cared about.

———

In those two days you’d been traveling and hiding, you’d been thinking seriously—between dodging Hydra agents, that is. Zemo was a good man—well, as good as a former assassin could be. You, on the other hand... you believed you were damaged good, not worthy of him. And as the plane landed in Vienna, you made your decision. 

———

“Did it?” 

Ross stepped back with uncertainty and didn’t answer. All bark and no bite, you concluded. 

You watched for a time as Zemo finished settling in. Not that there was much he could do—he was still bolted to the chair and would remain so for the rest of his natural life. 

The advantages of being a spy and assassin were such that you could blend in anywhere and not be seen. 

The prison was high security but you still managed to sneak in disguised as a secretary with credentials you’d lifted off of a fairly inebriated worker the night before.

Ross turned around and left the room, not seeing you as he closed the door behind him. You slid a pen into the crack to prevent the door from closing completely and activated a button to put the visual feed on a continuous loop: anyone watching would just see an empty room save for Zemo. 

“Schatz— you made it!” Zemo greeted you as if for a date. “I’d hug you but…” He glanced down at his manacled wrists then up at you with a smile.

“Helmut.” The tone in your voice wiped it from his face. 

“You’re not here to break me out, are you.” A statement rather than a question. 

“You’re weak,” you said quietly. “You got yourself captured. You’re a liability.” You turned to go, mostly so he wouldn’t see your eyes getting red. 

“Ilsa, please…” 

The use of your name, the one he’d gifted you with, stopped you. Without turning to him, you straightened your shoulders. “Don’t call me that anymore.”

“Don’t…” Zemo’s voice nearly broke your resolve but you had to do this, you had to. To protect him, you’d go to the ends of the universe and back. “Liebling, don’t _do_ this—“

Even if it meant shattering his heart. 

You fought the urge to turn around and throw yourself at his mercy, to beg him to forgive you for the cruel trick. 

“Ilsa—he’s not the same man—“

“You’re all the same.” Not you. You’re gentle and kind and I don’t want you to get hurt—You kept walking. 

The last you heard of Helmut Zemo were his pleas for you to stop, come back, don’t go, we will go together, _please_ look at me, I love you—

You made it to the bathroom outside the prison block before you collapsed into full blown sobs.

———


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we are DONE!!! Thank you for hanging with me, love you, mean it!

**__**

FOUR YEARS LATER

This world changed drastically in the four years following your disappearance. You traveled the world, using the funds from Hydra’s savings—that credit card that Natasha had given you—to live. 

You settled in Australia, in the outback, away from people. The locals taught you to farm sheep and cattle and you learned quickly that the country was unforgiving to those who did not adapt. Markus Leichstein was hesitant at first but the one eyed man eventually gave you shelter and a job. 

It was hard living but it did not bother you; you’d been through worse. Hydra had given up searching for you; maybe they thought you were dead. It didn’t matter.

You were at peace.

Then suddenly, half the world disappeared. Your meager flock of sheep was gone; you watched them turn to ash, along with your single farmhand.

Leichstein and his wife disappeared, as well as his only child, a teenaged daughter. 

You were alone again. 

Almost three years after the Incident as the surviving locals called it, you walked the length of the farm’s fenced border, looking for any animal life. 

Zemo had not showed up in those four years. You hoped it was because you’d left him and not because of anything else. A part of you still hoped that you’d see him at the front door, where you could throw yourself at his feet and beg his forgiveness and start over. 

As you walked, handgun in your shoulder holster and rifle slung across your back, you heard a report—

You looked down to your chest to see a rapidly widening red spot just below your right breast and another to the right of your navel. As you sunk to your knees and fell over, you heard the crunch of boots on leaves. The irony of the first shot’s location did not escape you. 

“I tried to tell you he was a different person.” Helmut Zemo’s soft voice broke through the pain. 

You lay on your stomach, your right hand partially trapped beneath you. You tried to push yourself to your back with your left hand but your strength was too far gone; instead you grabbed at the ID tags still around your neck these past four years. 

A gentle hand on your shoulder alerted you to Zemo’s close proximity. “We could have been something special, Liebchen.” 

_Keep talking—_ Your hand found the grip of your forty five. 

“I cared about you,” Zemo continued softly. “I even loved you.” 

You eased the handgun out of its holster, your body hiding the motions from view. 

“But you...you…” Zemo’s voice hitched and his grip on your shoulder got tighter. He started to roll you over into your back, eyes widening as his tags fell from your hand. 

And fell back against a tree with a cry, two swiftly darkening spots materializing in his abdomen. 

You dropped the handgun you’d untucked from your shoulder holster and finished the motion he’d started, settling on your back with a hoarse cough. “...you son of a bitch—“ 

A giant weight on your chest kept you from getting the air you so desperately needed. You felt your life ebbing from you. You gasped in pain and… grief. Mourning for the life you couldn’t have. 

Could it have been yours? A life away from this one? A family? 

Children?

A warm hand clasped yours and turned your head to see Zemo laying on his stomach, your hand in his. He gave you a reassuring squeeze as blood dripped from his mouth and nose. “...you waited...for me…?” 

You nodded as tears welled in your eyes as you mourned the life you couldn’t have. “...for you…” There was no doctor, no serum, nobody to save you and the serum could only work so fast.

It wasn’t working fast enough.

“...’m so sorry...Schatz...I’m—” Zemo dragged himself closer to you and released your hand. He reached over and smoothed the hair from your face and cupped your cheek. “...’m sorry…”

“...I do...love you…” Your chest grew tighter and you reached for him, tearing up. “...didn’t want you...to get hurt…” 

Zemo didn’t respond and you feared he was gone already for a split second, then he answered with a hoarse voice: “...we don’t deserve happiness...you and I…not for the...things we’ve done...”

You smiled wanly and shook your head. “...you’re right…” you answered as you weakly stroked his cheek with the back of your hand. “...’m sorry for...hurting you…” 

“...had worse…” Zemo’s attempt at a chuckle ended in a hoarse cough. You noted the pallor in his face. 

Red, then black began to creep into your vision. Zemo wrapped his hand around the back of your neck. “...not so bad…” he gasped. “...’ll see my wife and son again…”

The tears flowed freely when you realized you had nothing to look forward to on the other side. It _hurt_ , it goddamn _HURT_ , much more than the wounds to your chest. 

Zemo turned your face to his. “...the other side...is what we make...of it...Liebchen…” He thumbed away a tear from your cheek, let out a shuddering sigh and was still. 

The idea of possibly seeing him again, even in the afterlife, comforted you as your breathing stopped and the last thing you saw as your vision went black was Zemo’s eyes closing. 

———

_She sat up in bed, gasping and crying out with fear. Her rounded belly jolted as she sobbed. She looked around frantically, disoriented._

_The room came into view as her sleep clouded vision cleared. Her eyes landed on the bassinet that was expecting the baby in her womb any day now._

_They flicked over the pictures around the bassinet: the one of her best friend and of her and the baby’s father, who slept in the bed next to her._

_“Darling?” He sat up next to her now, a concerned look on his face. He gathered her into his arms and planted kisses on her head as she cried into his chest. “It was just a dream, Liebling, it was only a dream. I’ve got you.”_

_“It was awful—it was horrible—“ she sobbed into his arms, describing the dream._

_He put his hand on her swollen belly and the life within squirmed against his touch. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not going to hurt you and I’m not going anywhere.” He held her until she struggled out of his arms and all but ran to the bathroom, chuckling at the complaints of the baby constricting her bladder._

_As she relieved herself, he glanced at the picture of her friend. He was an Army buddy of hers; they’d both served in the war. He’d been so sure that she’d end up with him until the friend pulled him aside one day and informed him that he preferred men._

_The picture contained the friend and the friend’s partner. They’d met in the military hospital. The friend had been seriously injured, losing his left arm, and the partner—a blond, muscular man with warm, summer sky blue eyes—had been receiving treatment for post traumatic stress disorder. The friend was gifted a prosthetic through a research company and he and the partner had married less than a week ago._

_The woman returned to the bed, snuggling up against him. He wrapped his arms around her._

_“I’ve been thinking about names,” she said sleepily._

_“Oh?”_

_“I want her name to be Natalia.”_

_The man’s face broke into a side grin. “I love it, Schatz, I love it!”_

_She fell asleep against him, in the safety of his arms._

**Author's Note:**

> Break: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15567717/chapters/36141510


End file.
